EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the second of a series of odes that chronicle the legacy newsroom. Each is written from different first-person perspective. Together they create the mumbled narrative of a special and sadly contracting culture. The author, Don Nelson, has been a newsman for almost 50 years. You can read Ode #1, "City Editor, Friday night," and the author's statement, here.
To read Ode #1, "City Editor, Friday Night," and the author's statement, go here.
REPORTER, ON DEADLINE
“We need a story,” the editor says,
As if “we” included me
As a decision-maker
In any meaningful way.
“Make it a news feature,” the editor says,
As if that meant anything.
Editors don’t know, either.
They just like to say it
Because it makes them sound
Authoritative and knowledgeable,
But of course they’re not.
“By 5 o’clock,” the editor says,
With 10 sources, nut graph, back story,
Context, narrative structure, graphics and maybe
A FOIA request.
“Keep it to 500 words,” the editor says.
Because we are short on space,
Not to mention imagination or creativity
Or just plain common sense.
At 5:20 p.m.
The story returns
From the editor’s desk
Bloodied and mangled,
Eviscerated and mutilated,
Like road kill whose species
Can’t be identified from the remains.
Dumped back on my desk
With no direction,
No explanation,
No observation,
No suggestion
Of how to revive the carcass,
As if I could invoke
Some shamanic chant
To restore its life.
At 5:40 p.m.
The story goes back to the editor
With minor changes.
The editor doesn’t care
Having done the editing thing
And moved on.
Tomorrow, the editor says,
I will be covering
New tiger cubs at the zoo
Unless there is a plane crash
Or a mass shooting.
If I let the tiger cubs bite me
Maybe I can just go home.
To read Ode #1, "City Editor, Friday Night," and the author's statement, go here.
